To the Victor Go the Spoils
by damtoti
Summary: Southern Italy gains his independence only to be given to Turkey as tribute. Alternate history AU, and minor use of OCs.


The first time Turkey met the southern half of Italy, the child nation had offered little resistance. Despite his admirable vocal courage, Turkey had easily tossed the brat's screeching and flailing body over his shoulder and carried him away.

But from what he knew, the South Italy had grown considerably since then. The merging of his states had matured the whiny child into a testier, vicious adolescent. He knew that now, if Romano had the opportunity, he could put up an actual fight. Unfortunately for the two of them - because Turkey _had_ been looking forward to the entertainment - Romano's people had already voiced their surrender, leaving no more uncertainty over the identity of the victor. Like before, Turkey was going to leave the meeting dragging back a futilely struggling South Italy, and there was nothing his boss could do to save him. The idea thrilled him.

As he arrived, intentionally late, Turkey found the door to his boss's meeting room was not locked; the murmurs of tense voices echoed from within. A swift and immediate silence descended from within as he rapped his knuckles against the frame, politely announcing his arrival.

Three pairs of eyes instantly shot towards him, and he distantly noticed his boss gesturing in his direction with an, "Ah, here he is." Less concerned with the politicians, Turkey's gaze was immediately caught by the other nation in the room, and he was pleased to see Romano staring back at him with the same intensity. There was fear in the younger nation's wide, angry eyes, his lips pursed open with an unspoken complaint.

Turkey used the momentary lapse of conversation to drink in Romano's changed appearance, taking note of the characteristic scowl framing his spirited eyes, the unchanged manner with which his hair fell short against his ears. But he also regarded the body no longer rounded with childlike softness, now defined with lean muscles. Hunched forward in his seat with his tentative ferocity, bristling under Turkey's scrutiny, Romano looked attractively oblivious to his own beauty.

"What the fuck is this?" he snapped, suddenly finding his tongue.

More amused than put off by the boy's insolence, Turkey didn't bother to hide his grin, and closed the distance between them in a sweeping gait. He sat at the open cushion across from Romano, chuckling as the other blanched at the sudden proximity and tried to shift away.

"Are you asking me? You can see I arrived only now," Turkey teased, "But from what I understand of our foreign policies, this is a peace meeting."

"Peace meeting, my ass. If this - the things _your boss_ has been telling me - is supposed to be peace, then you must be an idiot."

Turkey scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Is that so? And what is it we have been asking of you?"

"_Th-things_, unreasonable demands. Like - taking me away, to - to..."

Turkey's smile turned feral as he and his boss chuckled, and Romano flushed hot in embarrassment.

"Fuck you, you _knew_ what this was about!"

"I might have caught on a bit early," he admitted, "Does the request sound so terrible?"

Romano's eyes hardened. "I know what you do to nations you add to your empire. "You- You're not going to do that to me."

"Oh?" Turkey leaned forward, leering at the younger nation, "What is it you think I do to the nations under my _protection_."

"Protection, my ass," Romano bit back, "You – I'm not going to – you're not going to make me your-"

"-harlot?" Turkey finished, and delighted in the appalled sound that left the younger nation's throat, "My _harem_ is treated with the greatest respect, I assure you. It is nowhere near to the garish European brothels you associate with. And I will see that you are well taken care for…that is, if you remain obedient."

"T-That's ridiculous. You can't claim nations unless you add them to your empire. And I was promised the sovereignty of my own states! Spain – Spain said–"

Spain. Turkey burst into laughter. The child was lucky his guardian had been there the first time Turkey had set his eye on him. How amusing that he expected that luck to last. "Spain…" he echoed, shaking his head. His boss sent him a curious look, and he explained, "Southern Italy was once under Spain's domain. But like a child, you can see he still calls to his former guardian for help, despite his assumed independence."

"That's not true! I-I don't!" It appeared Turkey had struck a sensitive spot. Romano grew flustered.

Turkey leaned forward, "Really, then? In that case, Spain has nothing to do with this."

"No, b-but-!" Romano was stuttering over his words, and Turkey smirked, "He – he said…you two discussed this!"

"We discussed this at another time, when he was your guardian. But as you agreed, you are no longer dependent on Spain. Today this issue will be settled between your country and mine." Turkey turned to Romano's boss, who had been neglected for most of their discussion. The man appeared to have shrunk into himself as he crouched in his cushion, eyes glazed with somberness. "And I believe your boss already made it clear how this would be settled."

The man flinched, turned to Romano, then back to him, "I – I – Your proposition is…" His tongue darted over his lips and he cleared his throat, "I-I certainly value the good relations between our countries. But- but I don't think your last request is necessary."

Turkey's boss let out a sharp burst of laughter. "Cutting back on your words now? Do you even understand your current situation? We could be invading your lands right now, slaughtering your people, but we prefer peace. I don't feel we have requested too much from you. All we asked for is the agricultural support of southern Italy – you people are very fond of farming, yes? We want prioritized imports, reasonable political support, and…" he gestured towards Romano, who flinched, "…the nation's embodiment."

"I – I don't disagree!" the poor man protested in his defense, and Romano shot him a reproachful glare, "It's just…I don't see why it's necessary to take him."

"Simple," Turkey said, "We, the embodiments, represent the spirit of our land. The will of the people, you could say. His cooperation with us – staying here – would be a demonstration of your trust."

"More of a symbolic thing, really," his boss added.

There was a momentary silence.

Turkey looked back at Romano to see him turn away abruptly and stare determinedly at his fingers. Romano's boss was staring at the table with a troubled expression. Turkey's boss leaned back confidently in his seat.

"I…I see…" Romano's boss conceded. He did not seem to 'see' at all.

After all, embodiments such as themselves were the pride of their people. Giving Romano up would be a huge blow to his country's pride.

Not to mention a huge blow to Romano's pride. Romano's boss averted his eyes as his nation's lips stiffened in a grimace that was more of a pout. Romano seemed to be mentally threatening his boss – if he even dared to accept, there were no words for what he would do to him.

His boss could only manage to look meekly apologetic as he spoke up. "I – We accept the proposal."

Romano shot to his feet, alarmed. "Are you fucking serious? No we don't!"

Turkey's boss looked between the two of them, a curious smile playing at his lips. He looked past Romano and slid a sheet of paper to his boss, "Sign, please."

"No!"

"Ah, but the request wasn't directed to you," the man chuckled, and Romano shrank back from the sudden chill of his tone. "He's a fiery one, isn't he?" he directed towards the other man.

"Well…I don't know." Romano's boss swallowed thickly. It must have been uncomfortable to objectively discuss his nation in his presence. A sudden possibility seemed to strike him. "You…you will not do anything to him? I admit I don't know much about you…nations, but he's just – I don't know how old he really is, but to me he is young. You won't hurt him?"

It sounded more like a plea.

Turkey stretched out in his seat, already feeling lazy. The day had gone well, he decided, and he was more than satisfied with the outcome. "Like I said, he'll be staying with me. If he causes problems, I will take it as my own responsibility to discipline him. But if he learns how to behave, I can promise him a comfortable living."

There was nothing more his boss could do. "I see…" he trailed off.

Romano warily stood where he was. "I don't know why you keep talking about this. They can't make me go. What are they going to do – drag me there?"

Turkey laughed softly and rose from his seat. "I am a bored man, South Italy. You are always free to put up a struggle; I could use the entertainment." He stepped towards Romano, towering over the younger nation.

"We don't want war!" Romano's boss cried and went ignored.

Romano followed Turkey's movements with his eyes, taking a step back for each step forward. He swallowed. "You can't fucking step on me like you did before."

"Maybe I won't need to, but I'm capable of doing so... and you know that."

"Ha!" Romano's face twisted into a grin that was more of a grimace. The laughter that hacked out his chest was more panicked than anything. "You're trying to scare me and it's not working!"

"Either way, if I need to I will knock you unconscious, tie you up, and carry you back myself."

"Well…" Romano's exterior was crumbling. He turned to his boss, then Turkey's, then the door, looking for an escape. His hand shot out, jutting a threatening finger against Turkey's chest. "I'd like to see you try, bastard!"

Turkey took a step closer until he completely cornered Romano.

Acting out in desperation, Romano swiped out at him. Turkey caught his wrist lightly, a halfhearted hold, and it was quickly wrenched out of his grasp.

"None of that," he smirked.

Romano snarled, staring past him towards the exit. He was struggling between protecting his pride and a chance at freedom; if he tried to run, he would only look like a coward. But there was no way he could win a fight against Turkey or risk starting a war. And if he did nothing, he would have no choice but to follow Turkey home. Romano's lip trembled, and he bit it fiercely, weighing the possible outcomes.

Finally he crossed his arms tightly against his chest. "F-Fine…" he spat, struggling to keep his voice steady, "Whatever, you win, I don't care. Do whatever you want."

So he chose the easy route. Well, there was nothing wrong with that.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He heaved an arm around Romano's narrow shoulders, who shrank from the touch but didn't - _couldn't_ - pull free.

With a great show of distaste, he let himself be lead back to his seat and returned to the floor. His eyes were fixed resolutely at his hands, clenched into his legs, as he avoided the concerned and amused looks of the other two men. Turkey watched curiously as Romano's eyes blinked rapidly, shamefully determined to pretend he wasn't crying.

Surrender was not that interesting of a response, but Turkey had to admit there was still something undeniably arousing about Romano's submission.


End file.
